And the Sun Goes Down Alone
by Kou Shun'u
Summary: 1997:Snape has again been passed over as DADA prof for another questionable figure and is well on his way to a breakdown. Draco, ostracized by his fellow Slytherins,looks for confidence elsewhere. And Neville might just push Potter out of the spotlight.
1. Chapter 1: The Sixteenth Year

Story Summary:

1997: Having risen in the ranks of the Death Eaters and having acquired more responsibilities in the Order of the Phoenix, Severus Snape has yet again been passed over for the position of DADA instructor for another questionable figure, and is well on his way to having a breakdown. Draco Malfoy, ostracized by his fellow Slytherins, looks for confidence elsewhere. And Neville Longbottom might just push Harry Potter out of the spotlight.

**Chapter I**

**The Sixteenth Year**

_The noises of the harbor die, the smoke is petrified_

_Against the thick but vacant, fading light, and shadows slide_

_From under stone and iron, darkest now. The last birds glide..._

"As if you would find him anywhere else, Martha." Flitwick pointed across the lake to the lone figure sitting cross-legged on the stone bench, his head in a book. The professor levitated to match their heights, revealing the smug smile he enjoyed wearing.

"Well, I haven't stayed here at Hogwarts over the holidays in several years," Martha huffed. "I did not know Severus would still follow the same routine." A meadowlark tweeted its way to her shoulder. Madam Sprout did not seem to notice. Such things were a common occurrence. Wild creatures were drawn to the woman, mostly due to the fact she smelled like earth and greens.

"Snape is a creature of routine." Flitwick tweeted at the bird and gently stoked its feathers. After a pause he added with a disquieted air, "I believe it is the only way he can manage his chaos."

_Distilled from some sad, endless, sordid period of time,_

_As from the language of disease might come a consummant rhyme; _

_It tries to impose its values on the port and on the lime---_

_The droppings that by chance and from an uncontrollable _

_And savage life have formed a patina upon the skull;_

_Abandoned, have blurred a bodied vision once thought spare but full---_

Martha sighed heavily as both stared across the lake to the potions master. "I admire his stamina. Anyone else would have been obliterated long ago or gone mad! I hope the war will be over soon, for his sake at least."

"Yes, Martha, who knows how much more he can take?" The lark sang through the silence between them until the tiny professor spoke again. "Let us leave him be. If his appetite demands it he will come to supper." Martha nodded and brushed the lark off her shoulder as both professors returned to the dining hall.

_As though there dominated this sea's threshold and this night _

_Not the raised hooves, the thick snake neck, the profile, and the might,_

_The wrought, eternal bronze, the dead protagonist, the fight..._

Having spotted a new audience across the lake, the lark flew to the lonesome creature on the bench. It tweeted around Severus' head, begging for attention. It circled several more times, its chirping growing incessantly louder at each turn until it reached a fevered shrill before giving up and landing on the edge of the bench.

"Are you daft or simply incompetent?" Severus asked, finally acknowledging the bird.

The bird cocked its head and blinked several times, as if unsure of the man's point. Severus finally took his nose out of his book and brought his attention to the bird beside him.

"You are a meadow lark," Snape explained to the little bird. "Larks are traditionally the song birds of the morning. As you can see," he said, gesturing to the sky, "it is sunset, time for the nightingales to sing the song of dusk." Severus laid a finger near the bird and it perched upon it.

"If you had come earlier I would have sung with you." Severus tapped his classical guitar. "I was in the mood for a duet."

He brought the little lark close to his face and caressed its soft feathers. The bird in turn nipped at his nose, bringing a quiet chuckle forth from Severus. "I have something far better tasting, young one." With his free hand, Severus rifled through the satchel at his side and retrieved a half eaten biscuit. With his thumb he crushed it in his palm, and then he invited the lark to the treat. The lark fluttered its wings and in two or three flaps landed at the heel of the man's palm and began pecking excitedly at the meal.

With the bird eating out of the palm of his hand, Severus returned his attention to the book at his lap. It was well worn with age and use. The spine had fallen away long ago and the corners were very brittle, barely holding the leaves together. Severus refrained from putting preservation charms on the books from his personal library, for he rather liked the feel of the authenticity of their age. The book he read from now was old, but new compared to the rest of his collection, and one he was drawn to around this time of the year. He had accumulated quite a collection over the years, the bulk of which were works of the ancients, still in original form, some which had the distinct quality of imminent disintegration. This 'vice' of his was a secret kept well-hidden from fellow Death Eaters, and especially from Voldemort. In fact, barely a handful of people knew it.

_But that unmoving, pale but living shape that drops no tears,_

_Ridiculous and haunting, which each epoch reappears,_

_And is what history is not. O love, O human fears!_

Dumbledore stood in the shadows awaiting Snape's arrival from his meditation at the lake. Lamppost light from the immediate vicinity of the School reflected off the summer dress of Severus, and produced an almost angelic silhouette of the man against the darkness. A breeze, billowing through the shirt loosely draped upon him, signaled the advent of the autumnal season. He entered through the greenhouse doors, where the Headmaster stepped out from his hiding place to greet him.

"We missed you at the faculty dinner, Severus." The potions master had not expected to be ambushed by a six and a half foot tall wrinkly wizard, but he pretended not to be startled. Dumbledore pretended not to notice that he was. The Headmaster approached Snape slowly, folding his hands behind his back as he continued to speak. "I gladly tell you that your absence was the discussion of choice, a topic of great concern, mind you, until of course our eyes and stomachs were distracted by the marvelous feast appearing before us."

"Well, it is nice to know how easily I can be forgotten." Severus adjusted the straps of his guitar and satchel around his shoulder and prepared to move on.

"Now, now, it was not meant that way." How typical of Snape, nipping back against any sting to his pride. This always amused Dumbledore, because Snape delivered his remarks so dryly that he never was quite sure if he was joking or not. Just a few more musings and he would unlock the mystery of Severus' mood. "Do not pretend to think that if you indeed were in need of assistance we would not drop everything to come to your aid." Dumbledore, finally entering Snape's personal space, patted the man's shoulder affectionately. "Even if fresh ham glazed with royal jelly and pumpkin-elderberry biscuits were being served." The Headmaster licked his lips at the thought of it.

Unable to resist his quirky charm, Snape revealed a reluctant smile. He looked up at the absurdly purple Dumbledore. "Must have been quite a feast, Albus."

"Indeed it was!" Dumbledore smiled back at Snape and nodded. He was glad that the man was in a decent mood after all. A smile was hard to come by these days. Dumbledore considered this quite an achievement. The Headmaster continued in his usual jovial tone, "The very definition of Scrumptious. I was in danger of having to be carried out by house elves. However, being headmaster and all, one has to mind one's manners and allow the others to enjoy the meal as well."

"Yes, I am sure Minerva would have petrified you if you had gotten out of hand." The smile peeked out a little more from the corners as Snape pictured Professor McGonagall smugly spouting the _Petrificus _charm, and Dumbledore frozen, mouth gaping open for an extra large pumpkin-elderberry biscuit.

Dumbledore chuckled, his beard laughing along from his chin. "Thank Merlin for Minerva." He looked his potions master over through half moon glasses, and noted how different Snape looked during the summer holidays. His hair was clean and pulled back, healthy color touched his cheeks, and his attire was that of the whites and khakis of linens instead of the rigid black woolen garments he wore during the school year. He was thankful that Severus allowed himself to relax sometimes, though he wished it could happen more often. Dumbledore made a mental promise to his potions master to allow for a long and leisurely sabbatical after the war was over, perhaps to a place with white sands and golden palm trees or tall junipers and wide fields, miles worth for satisfying rides on horseback. Knowing Severus, however, his dream vacation would be a treacherous hike up the Himalayas with tea biscuits as his only source of nourishment.

Snape shifted his stance; he was growing rather uncomfortable at Dumbledore's long thoughtful gaze upon him. He did not know what the old man was thinking, nor did he want to. He could have been pondering upon a thought he'd had years ago that had just come back a moment ago, for all he knew. But those piercing eyes and silly grin left Snape minding the exit.

Dumbledore realized he might have stared a bit long at him when Snape squirmed beneath his skin. He let out a quiet chuckle and took one last once over. Dumbledore spotted the worn out book in his hands and reached for it. "May I?"

Snape grabbed at the book protectively, but after a moment reluctantly handed it to him. Dumbledore carefully handled the book, considering the worn edges and much read pages. The front cover was not in better shape than the rest, but he could still make out the title despite the fade of its gold etching: _The Oxford Book of English Verse 1210-1950_. Flipping back through the first of its pages, Dumbledore raised a brow. "I thought you were fond of ancient works."

"I am." Severus cleared his throat, hoping this answer would be enough for the old man. Dumbledore's questioning look told him it was not. With some effort, he explained further. "It was a gift from Zora Thornworthe on my first day as potions professor."

"Ah, Professor Thornworthe." Dumbledore nodded, remembering her fondly. Snape shared many qualities with the woman, but she had been far less up tight. Zora, who had taught at Hogwarts for many years, had been an exceptional potions master. She had been a fifth year student when Dumbledore first came to teach at Hogwarts. He remembered her being a proud Slytherin, somewhat easy on the eyes, and with such a draconian nature that she could knock one off his feet with a single nasty look. Albus had come to miss their heated debates.

"She chose you as her replacement the day you entered Hogwarts, did you know that? She came to me your first year, pointed you out and said 'Observe him closely, he is my ticket to retirement.' You were a scrawny pale shadow of a boy then." Dumbledore chuckled. "Zora groomed you and taught you in All Ways Slytherin. Who knew she would be a Muggle sympathizer? Dangerous when your daughter's a Death Eater. I should think she stood defiant and proud when the _Avada Kedavra_ was unleashed upon her by five of Voldemort's henchmen."

Severus took the book as Dumbledore handed it to him. "I read it to remind me why I became a teacher." Severus clenched his jaw and hoped this prodding into his personal life would be soon over.

"You need reminding, Severus?" Dumbledore thought he was joking and asked with a laugh.

"Always, Headmaster," Severus answered plainly. Dumbledore had only responded with a queer smile, so Snape took this as his cue to move along. The Headmaster allowed him to pass, and then followed him, allowing several moments of silence before speaking again.

"The new school year begins next week. I do not need to tell you to take the rest of your free time to prepare your lessons as usual--but please, Severus." Dumbledore thought Snape's pride would never take him up on his offer, but he continued on anyway. "If you need help, do not be too stubborn to ask. " Since he received no response from him, Dumbledore took Snape's silence as permission to ramble on.

"You have a difficult year ahead of you. An extra level of responsibility, twice the amount of work at least---"

Severus stopped short and whipped his head back at the Headmaster. What was the old man getting at? Snape thought the Headmaster was trying to talk him out of his new task for this term. That would never happen; he'd waited far too long for things to finally go his way. No amount of apprehension and lack of confidence from Dumbledore would turn his head. "When have I ever backed away from extra work and responsibility? My whole life here is more work and responsibility." He squinted at Dumbledore. "I thought you knew me better than that."

Dumbledore stepped closer to him and placed an arm on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure. "Of course I do. In fact, I believe I know you better than you know yourself--that is my job after all." Had he managed to turn his mood so quickly? There was no need for Snape to be cross. He wasn't criticizing him, he was only concerned for his well being.

"Severus, you take on what five or six men have difficulty handling together. I am only holding out a hand if you need it." Albus had thought he would take his sincerity as it was and not read any more into it. He would always be there for his friend, whether Snape thought he needed him or not.

"Yes, sir. I understand." Snape gave up his efforts to defend himself. He gave Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt that he was being earnest in his offer and not implying anything more. Besides, Severus did not want any excuse for his new opportunities to be taken away.

"Good, good, Severus. Another year! I expect many changes to come!" Dumbledore patted his back and allowed Snape to move on alone.

"Another year. Always the same." A smile crept out of the corners of his mouth, for there was at least one change this year -- one great and fantastic -- Professor Snape was also going to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

PN: The poem excerpts are from "The Statue" by Roy Fuller.

**Upcoming:**

Chapter 2:

Returning from a grueling summer with the Dursleys, Harry's situation grows worse when he has to spend the entire train ride without his two best friends and in the company of those he'd rather avoid. But can things be looking up for him in the form of one of the new exchange students? Meanwhile, Snape pumps himself up for what he believes is finally due to him.


	2. Chapter 2: Newcomers

**Chapter II **

**Newcomers**

Colin and Dennis had already settled into the cabin when Harry came in. They were speaking to each other with great and vibrant enthusiasm on a subject Harry had no care to know about. Anything the boys could be discussing would be of no importance or interest to him. To make matters worse, their voices had not changed yet so it was twice as annoying listen to them. He had only hoped the conversation would let him slip in without notice. Two sets of eager eyes suddenly turned upon him. Alas, no luck. Harry tried not to roll his eyes when the Creevey brothers greeted him in unison.

Harry sighed, wishing he could be with Ron or Hermione in the cars reserved for prefects and Head Boy and Girl. Unfortunately, the three of them had been separated for the better part of the summer. Ron, having nearly lost an arm during their last battle with Voldemort, spent six weeks at St. Mungo's LRW (Limb Reattachment Ward). He'd been under heavy sedation while he was there and, as Ginny wrote, he'd been "too belligerent to write and so wickedly wonky, Gilderoy Lockhart could have had a mate in Ron in the mental ward." The rest of the summer was spent back at home recovering his senses.

Hermione, however, was spending as much time as she could with her muggle parents before they would be put into protective hiding. The decision was made due to the fact that one Death Eater assassin made it to the Grangers' bedroom, not before obliterating two aurors on the way. This attack had not been unprovoked, for it was Hermione who had developed the plan and led the attack to retrieve the Specter of Spindling while Harry faced Voldemort once again to distract him.

Therefore, with Ron and Hermione indisposed and friends in the OP busy with all things Voldemort, Harry had been forced to spend yet another summer holiday with the Dursleys. On the upside, his muggle relatives had grown terribly anxious around him and tended to think twice before mistreating him. The downside, however, was that he was stuck at number 4 Privet Drive under strict orders from Dumbledore not to leave the Dursleys. The malevolent threat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters far outweighed his dislike for his family, Dumbledore told him, and he was indeed safest with them whether he liked it or not.

The new school year was beginning to look just as miserable as the summer, if it was to start being stuck on a train with both Creeveys. Harry wallowed in self-pity for a few moments while Colin and Dennis shot annoying questions at him at the rate of a semiautomatic hopped-up on speed. Then a hopeful ray of light came to his mind and pushed away the heavy clouds. He was heading to Hogwarts, far, far away from the Dursleys, to his final year. His graduating year. End of term brought the summer and Harry's eighteenth birthday -- his ticket to freedom. He also had the strong feeling that he would finally vanquish Voldemort once and for all. He had come so close only months ago but the pale python of a man managed to slither away once more. There was no way Harry would let the Dark Lord take another mutated snake breath once he had him locked in his sights again.

Harry gave a halfhearted grin at the boys and took to the only seat available, next to Dennis. As he put his rag of a bookbag in the overhead compartment, he turned, and only now noticed the fourth person in the cabin with them. He looked over to the stranger in the window seat on Colin's bench.

"Who is that?" he asked not, to one boy in particular -- for he knew either one of them would answer, if not both.

It was Colin who answered, all a-jitter like a happy puppy greeting its master. "We don't know! She was already here, asleep when we came in."

Harry slipped his glasses back up to the proper place on his nose and looked her over. The first thing he noticed was the yellow and blue tinted sunglasses with shiny gold frames. They looked expensive, but judging from the rest of her outfit probably knockoffs. They almost resembled the pair Dudley had tried to wear over the summer. They had been far too small and not the right frame for the shape of his face, but he proudly wore them, bragging they were designer Guccis. They were actually a pair he'd swiped off a street cart selling counterfeit designer sunglasses and watches. He'd also managed to steal a "Prada" watch for Petunia, claiming he'd saved and then bought it for her "just because no other mum could be so perfect."

The sleeper had sandy colored hair woven into braids and worn like a halo around her head. Harry noticed that from travel or poor hair maintenance they'd begun to unravel. A green t-shirt and sleeveless blue hooded pullover covered most of her upper body, but Harry could still admire the tan on her exposed arms. Her blue jeans were so faded that they would hardly be considered blue anymore. He raised a curious brow at the twenty or so safety pins pinned to each torn and worn cuff.

She sat with her arms crossed around her chest, her head propped up against the window, creating a foggy aura against the glass around it.

For a fleeting moment, Harry had a horrible thought that she might be another Luna Lovegood. Shooing that thought from his mind, he convinced himself that from the looks of things she seemed too hip to be a loon like Lovegood. Harry was about to take time to consider the sleeping stranger when Neville Longbottom came tripping in.

"Sorry guys, e-everywhere else is full." Neville slid the cabin door shut behind him. "I-I didn't think you'd mind." He turned to the cabin mates with a pleasant smile, expecting warm greetings.

Harry noticed that Neville had grown yet another few inches, his shoulders had broadened handsomely, but he still quivered and stuttered as the first day he'd seen him. Potter was already annoyed that he had to be away from his two best friends. Another face that did not belong to them was more than he cared to deal with. He did mind that he had to be in a cabin with the dual presidents of his fan club, and to add clumsy, needy Neville was insult to injury. "As you can see, Neville, we're pretty full in here as we----"

"Of course we don't mind, Neville!" Dennis exclaimed, interrupting Harry's dismissal of him. "Here, Harry, make room, OK?" He gave Harry a bit of a shove, and the younger Creevey slid himself down to the other end of the bench to make room for Neville in between.

Harry was far too stunned to protest. He closed his gaping mouth, and then reluctantly moved over a bit further to give himself all the millimeters that could be afforded in the space between him and Neville. Harry let out a bitter huff, not bothering to hide the inconvenience put upon him. The others did not seem to notice.

Neville cheerfully took the seat offered to him. "Thanks 'arry, thanks Dennis!" He was genuinely thankful; his sugary tone was proof of that. He grinned widely at both boys, receiving a mirrored expression from Dennis but barely half a smile from Harry.

"No problem!" Dennis replied in the same cotton candy air as Neville. This made Harry cringe.

"Yeah, my pleasure." Harry grunted under his breath. He couldn't believe his luck. All he had been able to think about on the way to platform 9 3/4 was spending time laughing with his best friends and getting fat on the delights on the candy cart. He had forgotten Ron and Hermione would be in special cabins, and now he was stuck with Dennis, Colin and Neville. The boys weren't really all that bad -- it was just not what Harry wanted. Potter crossed his arms, turned away from them as best he could in the space allotted him and pouted out his lower lip like a toddler.

Neville, meanwhile, had seen the other passenger immediately. Taking a quick glance at the dreamer, Neville opted to properly say his hellos to his friends before mentioning her. _How were your summer holidays? Got new cameras. Started a garden. Excited for the new term. _Neville matched the Creevey brothers' enthusiasm tier for tier as they exchanged news and greetings.

His chuckles fading, Longbottom now took full notice of the fifth cabin mate next to Colin and asked about her. "Who could she be, do you reckon?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Nev," Colin answered with a shrug.

Neville then cocked his head sideways as he considered this passenger. He thought seriously for a moment, furrowing his brow into his forehead. Harry turned his face back towards Neville, wondering what kind of answer his simple friend would come up with.

"She's probably one of the American exchange students," Neville said matter-of-factly, to which the Creevey brothers displayed identical expressions of recognition and amazement. Harry in turn squinted as the mention of exchange students in passing conversations with Ron around end of term slowly came to memory.

"Ah! That's right, I plum forgot!" Dennis squeaked. Harry half expected him to slap his forehead in an exaggerated gesture but Dennis just nodded over to the stranger. "She must be seventh year so she'd be in class with you and Harry, Neville!" All of the boys stared at the sleeping female passenger.

"Though, I don't know," Colin said, trying to peek behind her sunglasses. "She looks like she may be a little bit older." He shrugged looking back at the others. "But it could be the tan."

Dennis nodded, agreeing with his brother's train of thought. "Yea, she reminds me of our cousins KiKi and Brigit who always stop by before going back to University after a summer holiday at some beach. They always look older than they are, all golden and glowy---"

"Except for two summers ago when they fell asleep after a party and got all red! They waddled around like lobsters, not wanting to sit 'cause their bums were burned!" Colin chuckled and Dennis laughed with a snort. They failed to mention, however, that they incessantly tormented their cousins by flicking watermelon seeds at their burns, causing the girls to slap at their skin in a knee-jerk reaction. The boys eventually did get their punishment handed to them when they woke to find themselves covered in molasses with mosquitoes let loose upon them. As their laughter came to an end the Creeveys suddenly felt itchy.

"Well, she could still be a seventh year, even if is she is older, " Harry chuckled. "You know what slackers those Americans can be." Harry meant it as a joke and had expected at least a sympathy laugh. What he got was raised brows and a "how rude" look from Neville. Harry quickly wiped the grin off his face and cleared his throat. Tough crowd.

In an attempt to divert their scolding gazes and steer the topic off his bad joke, Harry asked, "Why is Hogwarts in an exchange program anyway? I mean, we are in a time of war, you know. Vol--" - Harry saw the look of horror in the boys' eyes as he uttered the first syllable but went on to say the Dark Lord's name anyway - "-demort is out there, probably more powerful than ever, ready to attack at any time!"

The Creeveys nodded. "That is a good question, Harry!" Colin said. "It is dangerous, bad luck even. The last time we had foreign students at Hogwarts, one of us got killed!"

"Why do think they are doing it, Harry?" Dennis bent forward to look over at him.

Harry felt confident that he was back in their good graces. Colin and Dennis were his biggest fans after all. They ought to have stories for their classmates of how brilliant Harry was as he so splendidly chose them as his cabin mates and shared his wisdom. Brilliant indeed, although he really didn't have an answer. Harry stammered on, cursing his brain for not coming up with even a decent explanation "Well, um... I guess ... it could be ...because..."

This was when Neville scooped away the attention the boys were giving Harry. "Well, I was talking to Hermione back at the platform and she said that the Ministry wants to keep up public appearance."

The boys' heads whipped back to Neville. "Allowing a student exchange program gives a show that everything is fine, that school activities are uninterrupted and that they are confident there is no truth, to rumors of the resurrection of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord."

Colin and Dennis nodded in admiration of Neville's knowledge on the subject. Neville smiled, and then gently patted Dennis' back. "But we know different, right guys?"

"Yeah! Neville!" Colin shouted so loudly Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. He thought Colin's eyes were going to fly right out of their sockets he was so excited. "It was amazing how you used _Ridikkulus_ on that Death Eater, turned his robes to fangless snakes that sucked at his neck!" Colin reenacted the look of said Death Eater and the snakes with his hands. "I would have never thought such a thing would work!"

"Yeah! Quick thinking! It distracted him long enough to get him away from Ernie!" Dennis jumped in his seat so violently; Harry felt the vibration under the cushions. "THEN! Then you nailed him with the _Cruciatus Curse_! It was fantastic." The famous Potter was dumbfounded. If there was any truth in what the boys were saying, Neville had more power in him than he thought. He looked at Neville, who sat tall, smiling proudly but with an air of humility. Harry swore he saw a blush pinking in Longbottom's cheeks.

"Glad you were with us, Neville!" _Glad you were with us, NEVILLE? _But what about him? He had been the one standing face-to-face with Voldemort while Neville had battled only meager Death Eaters. Harry looked back and forth at the boys. Their worshipful eyes set their sights on bucktooth Neville. A scowl imbedded itself on to Harry's face. Jealousy was beginning to take hold.

In an attempt to win back attention and gain some praise, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, that's really neat, Neville." He sat tall ready to be gushed at, "Kind of like when I fought wand to wand with both Bulstrode and Goyle on my way to defeat Vo---"

"And, Neville!" The boys didn't even hear Harry. " When you cast _Expelliarmus_ on that Deathguard's wand so that Ginny Weasley could petrify him!" Colin was leaning forward his face flush with excitement as he added sound effects to his description.

Dennis clapped and hooted. The three of them were locked in deep in praise of each other. When the mutual love fest ended, the Creevey brothers wanted to know more about the American students and asked Neville a barrage of questions. "There is more than one Magic School in America, right? How many students are coming? Who was sent there from Hogwarts?"

"Well, there are four students coming." Neville went on to answer each question, thoroughly sharing all he new about the American students. Harry was lost in complete dismay. Could his day get any worse? When had Neville become such a hero? Maybe he should have been nicer to the Creeveys these past years. Having lost interest in him, they must have latched on to an eager soul willing to please them, as Harry never could. He sulked on his end of the bench.

With Neville and the boys' voices finally fading out of existence, Harry stared at the sleeping American student. She was kind of cute, Harry thought, and would definitely keep his attention easily from Cho, who ended up coupling with a graduating Ravenclaw at the end of the year. They hadn't had much of a relationship anyway, so he couldn't really blame her for finding someone new. The memory of their heavy make out sessions had Harry curling his toes in envy of the older boy who for sure got to shag her. His eye wandered over the body of the sleeper. He wondered what her name was, whether she had a boy friend, whether she wanted one or just good shag. He was well over due for his first, and maybe this girl would be the one to do the honors. He was the famous Harry Potter after all. The Creeveys may have found a new star to follow, but he was sure everyone else still held him in high regard.

Harry's eyes slowly began to glaze over and his scowl grew into a silly grin as he considered the girl's tanned skin and curves. He wondered when he'd be able to use his invisibility cloak to spy her in her skivvies or less...

The last of the first years were sorted into their houses. Snape was not surprised at the newcomers to Slytherin. Two out of the three were pureblood children of Death Eaters and one was from a line whose family traditionally went to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. As for the rest of the first years, four had gone to Hufflepuff, three to Gryffindor and only two to Ravenclaw. Slim pickings this year. This was not unsual, however. Every so often only a handful of new students entered Hogwarts. This balanced the years when two or three times the usual amount of children come through those massive magic doors.

Dumbledore clapped as he stood and said his welcomes to the new students and made his usual speeches. The Headmaster then stood silent, looking out to all the students in the Great Hall in such a way that each one thought Dumbledore was looking directly at him. He raised his arms, adding dramatic gestures as he spoke, his voice bellowing out to all in the great hall.

"My students, most of you have heard or even read about what I am about to announce, so this should not come as a surprise to you. Those who will be surprised should keep themselves better in tune with current events!" Dumbledore waved a scolding finger to the crowd but gave a smile to show that he wasn't entirely being serious.

"Children, look among you. Who is missing from your house? Four students were chosen to participate in our first student exchange in nearly fifteen years. Four Hogwarts students were chosen to go to America for the school year and four students from the American magic schools were chosen to attend Hogwarts!"

Harry squirmed in his seat. He nudged his elbow roughly at the red head's side. "You get to see her now, Ron," he whispered. He told Ron Weasley all about the girl on the train. As soon as he'd found him at the station, Harry hadn't stopped talking about her until they entered the great hall. "I wonder if there will be another one just as cute, for you!"

Ron was indeed intrigued. If this girl was as scrumptious as Harry described then things were looking up. He'd had his fill of the girls at Hogwarts; new blood had him licking his lips in anticipation. He'd grown into quite the ladies' man while Harry had only petted around with Cho. New faces meant new conquests and Ron was eager to start, especially as his summer had been spent half out of his wits in St. Mungo's.

"Yeah, let's see, there are supposed to be two seventh years, a sixth year and a fifth year--- or rather the American equivalent. Won't it be great if they all are girls?" Ron crossed his fingers and both boys chuckled. Chuckling turned into coughing and throat clearing when Hermione narrowed her eyes at them.

Hermione let out a huff and rolled her eyes at Ron and Harry's antics. Could they not think of anything else? Being around the boys proved right her notions that teenage boys were not worth giving up her study time. She was glad that she had spent her time with older, not to mention mature, men such as Viktor Krum. He was always respectful of her and never pushed her further than she wanted. They kept in touch with owl mail. Unfortunately, they saw each other less and less as the months passed and Hermione only now realized that she hadn't heard from him since before finals of last term.

She'd had a busy summer, but usually Viktor sent a letter every two weeks like clockwork. Hermione had intended to write to tell Viktor that she would not be available for the summer but he'd never written a response to her usual pre-exam letters. Hermione knew he was joining a new team that summer; perhaps he'd just been too busy to write. She blushed, suddenly feeling guilty that she had so easily forgotten him these past couple of months.

Dumbledore was finishing his speech and Hermione returned her attention to the headmaster. "The four will be sorted into houses, just like our first years. I ask you kindly to treat our newcomers with respect and courtesy. I am sure some of you will build a lasting friendship. And now, our American exchange students."

The great doors opened again. The four newcomers shyly stood in the great doorway with all eyes upon them. Hermione noticed the tall black girl adjust herself to a confident stance as she took the first step. The handsome boy next to her, who was unmistakably Native American, followed in suit.

Hermione had read once that certain peoples had inherited a natural disposition and understanding to magic and even had a keen use of ancient or "core" magic. Native Americans (with minor differences in each tribe), Gypsies and Aborigines were among the few to have these abilities. It was rare to find them in the company of wizards wielding "silly" wands.

The two younger exchange students followed the others closely as they all walked down the aisle to the sorting hat. There were only two girls in the bunch and Ron snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Ah well, at least there is one for each of us, Harry." He watched as the four Americans came up and then passed them. He looked for the girl Harry described, blond and tan. But there was only the tall (and well filled out Ron noticed) black girl, and a small girl with short reddish brown hair. "Um, Harry," he whispered, "which one is yours?"

Harry anxiously looked up and down the aisle looking for his sleeping beauty. "She's not here!

"Sh-she's not here!" He looked around frantically. He counted the exchange students: one, two, three, four. There were only supposed to be four. Maybe there had been a mistake; maybe there were supposed to be five. There had to be. Why else would she have been on the train?

He looked back down the aisle to the great doors, squinting to see if perhaps she was there, lagging behind. All he saw were the doors closing, telling him no one else was coming.

"That's weird, Harry. You sure she's not one of those girls?" Ron looked towards Professor McGonagall, who stepped forward, greeting the students in kind, and began to call each forward under the sorting hat.

Harry looked at them intently. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, the girl asleep in the train was not one of them. There was one definitely a seventh year, the tall girl named Delila Wilkensen, who was sorted into Ravenclaw, and the short brunette, whose eyes practically disappeared behind freckles, Melanie Hurtston.

"That one's probably the fifth year," Ron whispered to Harry. "Kind of young but has potential." Hurtston was sorted into Gryffindor. The seventh year boy, Robert Blackcrow, was put in Slytherin and the sixth year boy, Thomas Miles Tempest the Third, was placed in Hufflepuff. Hermione thought he looked like a long lost relative of Santa Claus, with round red cheeks and a belly to match.

Harry shrugged at Ron. He knew he hadn't imagined her. "I didn't see her get off the train…" Harry searched for a reason to explain why she wasn't there. Ron saw the glimmer of panic in his friend's eyes. He found this rather funny.

"She was still asleep when we all got off…" Harry said, his voice trailing off as his brain tried to make sense of it all. Ron began to snicker. "Maybe she was on the wrong train?"

"Maybe you dreamed her up, Harry!" Ron was convulsing trying not to laugh out loud. "You probably fell asleep and dreamed about your pretty blond all the way to Hogwarts."

"I didn't!" Harry shoved at Ron's shoulder. He hated being teased, especially if Ron could be right. He still protested, despite his own fears that she might have well been dreamed up. "She was there! Ask Neville!"

"Shhh! Stop being so rude!" Hermione scolded the boys. " Honestly you two, Professor Dumbledore is still speaking!"

Dumbledore's voice bellowed on. "And just one more announcement, children--- settle down, settle down. The feast will begin momentarily, I promise. As you know, every year it seems we have a new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher. This year is no exception."

Finally, Professor Snape thought. He'd waited for this announcement all day. His mouth turned up its corners as he thought of the looks on the children's faces. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would have the mixture of surprise, indifference and polite nods. The Gryffindors would be beside themselves, mouths gaping open in stunned silence. The fearful look in their eyes would be priceless. From the Slytherins, no doubt cheers and boisterous applause. This was the moment he had been anticipating for far too long.

"However, I do hope you will be pleased with our choice." Dumbledore looked around to the professors on both sides of the head table. "I have it on good authority that your new Professor is extremely talented."

Professor Snape sat tall in his seat…

"... And campaigned for this position whole-heartedly and earnestly..."

The Potions Master pulled his seat back and brushed his robes...

"I present you, your new Dark Arts Professor..."

Shape straightened his collar and stood...

"Professor Ana Jenski, our fifth American newcomer." The doors opened again and the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, barely allowing the doors to spread, ran in. All heads turned toward her.

Her robes were wrinkled and buttoned awkwardly. She had a hair tie in her mouth and was actively putting up her crimped and frizzed hair from failed braids up into a ponytail as she hurriedly made her way to the faculty table.

"Um..." Harry swallowed hard. "That's her, Ron." Harry's mouth gaped open. He had been fantasizing about a teacher? His face felt hot and tingly; no doubt he was as red as Weasley hair. Ron's snickering didn't help his embarrassment either.

Miss Jenski approached the head table and took to her seat between Dumbledore and Snape. "So sorry, sorry I'm late!" She shook Dumbledore's hand nervously. She spoke quickly and all in one breathe, "I fell asleep and then I got lost. I'm so sorry, this is embarrassing."

"Quite all right, dear." Dumbledore was amused. His kind smile and reassuring gaze calmed her. "Understandable. It is a big school after all. " Dumbledore returned his attention to the students. "And now ... enjoy!" The feast began and the faculty sat to dinner as well.

Miss Jenski smiled at the Headmaster. "Thank you for having me, and my students." Turning to Snape before sitting down she said to him, "Oh I must look a mess. What a way to make a first impression."

Professor Snape just stood there frozen in stunned silence.

"She was to teach an elective class--sixth and seventh year Muggle Studies!" Snape burst into Dumbledore's office, his anger kept courteously from his voice, but shown clearly on his face. Snape remained in the doorway waiting to be invited, even after barging into the office.

Dumbledore did not reveal his surprise. He simply continued to feed the few remaining sunflower seeds in his palm to Fawkes. He knew Snape was angry. He was usually angry about something in the beginning of term, but it most times it was some nonsense about Potter or his friends scheming or insults and how he hated to put up with it. It had been more frustration than anger all those times, but this was something different. Something had Snape fuming. Though manners and his natural reserve hid it well, one could not mistake that look in his eye. Dumbledore waited a few moments, hoping Snape would take this time to calm himself, before moving behind his desk.

"Have a seat, Professor Snape." Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk as he calmly took to his own seat.

Finally. Snape was annoyed that Dumbledore had him wait so long before acknowledging him, but dismissed it as punishment for his rude entrance. Nevertheless, he had a right to be angry. No amount of rude behavior he delivered could equal the snub cast on him by Dumbledore.

Snape grit his teeth, holding back his anger. He stepped forward and spoke slowly, each word as stiff as his posture as he walked. "Why was I not informed? Why was I kept in the dark?"

Approaching Dumbledore's desk, he declined to sit, opting to stand by the offered seat. It was a gesture not overlooked by Dumbledore. Snape continued as his murderous gaze met that of Dumbledore. "It was my position and was taken from me with such subterfuge."

"Subterfuge?" The Headmaster propped his elbows on the cushioned arms of his chair and intertwined his fingers at his stomach. He could see the anger in Snape's eyes, though it was a meager hint to the man's true rage.

"Professor, I believe you are over-reacting." Dumbledore continued to remain calm. It would be no use to match Snape's indignation with a scolding tone. Dumbledore had to keep it mellow in order to keep the height of Severus's anger at a manageable level. But just how angry was the potions master? Dumbledore had yet to realize the extent of the man's fury.

"I may be, but this situation feels so underhanded, sly, devious and duplicitous—"

"Those all mean the same thing," Dumbledore muttered, but he knew enough not to repeat himself when Snape ignored his comment. For though it was rare, his redundant babbling was a sure sign of the level of his anger. Four synonyms: extremely angry, tread softly.

"---That this carries the stink of subterfuge! I would never have expected such a thing from you, Headmaster." Snape narrowed his eyes down at the man. He was hiding it well, but the flame of his fury was escaping through the cracks of his concrete wall of cold stoicism.

"I am at a loss. What have I done that you would say such things about me?" Dumbledore reached over to the glass bowl on his desk and picked up a candy. Changing the subject for a moment, Dumbledore studied the little round sweet. "Professor Flitwick gave me a box of these little bobbins. He thought I ought to try different styles of candies of my favorite flavor." He held up the piece of candy. "Lemon fizzer, Snape? No? Well, more for me." And he popped it into his mouth.

The Headmaster's nonchalant attitude irked Snape. He took it as a personal slight that his woes were of no concern. However, in case the Headmaster's feigned ignorance was truly poor recollection of an old man, Snape refrained from slamming his fist on the table. "You know exactly what I am talking about, but I will humor you."

His voice this whole time had slowly been growing louder, his tone barely keeping his anger at bay. Old man or not, Headmaster or not, Snape would not keep is rage in check much longer. "Having lost yet another Defense against the Dark Arts teacher at end of term, a replacement had to be sought. Until two weeks ago, there was no one. Thus the position was to go to me, _Headmaster_."

Raising a brow, he heard the spit on his title. However, Dumbledore kept his cool even though he could practically feel heat of Snape's anger upon him. "Did I ever tell you that the Dark Arts classroom was yours, Snape?" A faint fizzing sound was coming from Dumbledore's mouth.

Snape clenched his fists. No, he never did tell him out right that the class was his---but it was his by right! There was no DADA teacher signed for this term. He'd known all of summer holiday and contained his hope and excitement until there was still no one less than two weeks before start of term. He had always been slotted to take the position if no one could be found. He was the most prepared, most qualified, not to mention the most experienced. Snape let out a heavy breath. "Naturally, I assumed---"

"Ah, see there! That is were the mistake was made!" Albus waved a finger at him. "Never assume anything! You of all people know better." Dumbledore added a trifle of amusement to his tone in hopes Snape would see the humor in his error. It was along shot - it was Snape after all - but worth a try. Fizz. Pop. Pop. "O! That tickles the nose."

Dumbledore's hopes receded when he saw Snape's reaction. His humor was like throwing oil to the fire of the potion master's fury. Snape clenched his fists again until his knuckles turned white. He also clenched his jaw tightly, adding more severe angles to his face. Dumbledore earnestly kept a pleasant smile on his face.

Professor Snape finally managed to speak again, though his tone was not without grave hostility. "What was all that talk of having more responsibilities, extra work not much time to myself--"

"I was referring to your work in the Order of the Phoenix of course!" Did the man not see it? Was he still so anxiously pining after the Defense against the Dark Arts position that everything else did not exist?

"Not to mention you being returned to your high rank among the Death Eaters, as well as your responsibilities here!" Dumbledore's eyes showed pity and his voice never left its mellow state. He continued to explain hoping the honest truth would sober Snape out of his anger. "Severus, I could never ask you to take on teaching other class while you have so much weight on your shoulders. I fear you will crumble under the pressure."

"How greatly you underestimate my abilities, Headmaster." Snape was not deterred.

"Perhaps, but I rather take my chances favoring a safe load. We have lost enough in the war against Voldemort. I would be beside myself if we lost you." Dumbledore raised himself to his feet and came around his desk towards Snape. "Especially if it would be my fault that your mind was split into too many directions." He put a hand on Snape's shoulder to both console and show his sincerity. "I would not have it."

Snape kept his eyes at the seat where Dumbledore had sat just a moment ago. His voice began to decline from murderous heights. Despite his rage, he was listening to what the Headmaster was saying. Dumbledore was making good points and perhaps he was over reacting. But it did not explain keeping the new DADA professor secret. "Why did you not tell me you had chosen someone?"

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore answered, "It was not my intention to keep it a secret. It wasn't a secret at all. I had only thought to spare you news of any sort. You were recuperating from your trial by fire, literally, from the gauntlet of the Death Eaters. I thought it best to leave you be." Dumbledore squeezed Snape's shoulder affectionately. " Had I known you believed yourself to be DADA professor this term... I did not realize."

Snape shook his head. Dumbledore had always known his desire of the Dark Arts classroom. And that tone in his voice - was that pity? The man pitied him! He saw it in those eyes, which always looked as if they knew a secret hidden from the universe. Snape had done whatever Albus had asked him for the good of all and now the man pitied him. He would not have it. Poor excuse. This was unacceptable!

"Bollocks!" To hell with propriety. "Do not patronize me!" Snape shoved Dumbledore's hand off his shoulder and turned to meet his gaze. "You know how much I wish to be DADA professor! You've always known. The position would not have been a burden; it would have been a gift! A GIFT! I would have handled it with pleasure! With all I have done for you! You OWED ME THIS!"

Dumbledore took a step back. He was not entirely surprised at Snape's outburst, but it was still unsettling to see him this way. Snape had been through so much, suffered long and far more than anyone else he knew in this wretched war. He had hoped that this was not a warning to a break down lurking in the shadows.

"So, instead," Snape went on his face flush with rage, "You have chosen a second-rate scatterbrained strumpet---"

"My, my, how harsh. You don't even know her---" Dumbledore continued to step back.

"Who teaches Muggle Studies!" Snape stepped forward keep nose to nose with Dumbledore.

"She still would be teaching seventh year Mugglisms--"

"My point is, who is this woman? _You,_" Snape practically spit the word out, "and your quirky habits," his expression contorted itself to a strange concoction of rage and revulsion, " have chosen yet another _nit wit_ to teach a core course!"

Dumbledore stopped dead and raised a brow. This was enough. Snape had taken to insulting the Headmaster, his disappointment taking a repugnant turn. Snape, his face mirrored back at him in Dumbledore's eyes, realized he had come far too close to losing control than he was comfortable in admitting. He took a step back. Snape took a heavy breath and replaced a loose hair behind his ear.

The Headmaster stared Snape down. "I stand by my decision, Professor Snape." Dumbledore removed his gaze from Snape and returned to his seat. He now was beginning to get angry as well, a feeling he never comfortable with.

"That would be all on the matter." Dumbledore half expected an apology or at least a look of regret on the potions master's face. Snape did not give either. He was far too angry still with Dumbledore, but more so with himself for letting his emotions get so out of hand. If Dumbledore were anything like Voldemort, Snape would be dead right now. In fact, he thought, he wouldn't have made it past the rude entrance.

Severus also realized that he had made Dumbledore angry, but it seemed not to matter. He had understood he was being dismissed, but Professor Snape remained standing, silent and spiteful. Dumbledore looked up at Snape. His mellow air left him only moments ago. Snape was dangerously scorning his authority. Dumbledore was to put an end to this right now. Not allowing the chance of having Snape misinterpret the offense taken by his behavior, Dumbledore, with the glimmer of a malevolent warning in his eyes firmly bellowed, "You are dismissed!"

Snape's nostrils flared. His lips pursed themselves together in a tight white line. The potions master had greatly offended the old man. What's more, his lack of control had immersed him deep in self-disdain. The year had started on a dreadful foot. Snape turned on his heel and left the Headmaster's office.

**Upcoming:**

Chapter 3:

Hermione takes an interest in her new teacher and classmate. Draco acts as Robert Blackcrow's guide. And Snape trudges on.


	3. Chapter 3: Can you be my friend?

**Chapter III  
"Can you be my friend?"**

The first day of classes had begun with a full dose of Arithmancy in the morning. For Hermione's final year, the class had dwindled to only four students: two Ravenclaws, a Slytherin and herself. To her delighted surprise, a new face was added to their meager group. Delila Wilkensen, the exchange student, had been patiently sitting when Hermione and the other students came to class. She could only assume that, being new to Hogwarts, Delila had come to class early to make sure she would find the room and not be late. With her nose diligently in the textbook, she no doubt was reviewing what of course she had already reviewed the night before. Commendable. It would have been something Hermione would have done herself.

It pleased Hermione that she could perhaps speak to someone on the subject of Arithmancy logic. The Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass, would of course never talk to a Gryffindor; and the twin Ravenclaws, Keegan and Kellar O'Keefe, who also happened to be sixth years, only spoke to each other. Hermione sat at the same long desk as Delila and the two girls shared polite smiles for barely a millisecond before having to dive head deep into magic numbers, as the professor began class immediately after the last student entered the room. No time for chit chat.

When class had ended, Hermione was anxious to say her hellos to Delila but the girl was gone before she turned to greet her. This startled Hermione for a moment, for she had not expected such an abrupt exit. Then again she could only assume that the girl had left quickly to get to her next class. So, with a bit of a disappointed look, Hermione walked the long way-- which was the only way from the Arithmancy classroom-- to her next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It took Hermione nearly ten minutes to arrive at the DADA classroom. She had been thinking on the way about how strange her life had become since the very first day she entered Hogwarts. Finding out you can do magic and coming to a school to learn all about it was one thing, but to be involved in life and death battles at such a young age was entirely another. She was now in her final year at school, and at 17 she had dangerously circled the edge of death more times she cared to count. She had encountered creatures and had done things she had once only believed to be fairy tales. For the past six years, she had been living her own kind of fairy tale.

She amused herself thinking that in her fairy tale, had it been written, she would have been the knight in shining armor while Ron and Harry would have the roles of damsels in distress. Though she kept it to herself, she had always known that Ron and Harry would have been long dead if it weren't for her brains. Hermione remembered that she had been petrified for nearly the whole of a school year because Weasley and Potter were so terribly slow on the up take. Admittedly, the boys had their own talents, but theirs combined would still not come close to her own.

Hermione entered the class just about the time the rest of the latecomers came straggling in. Luckily class had not begun; students had still been gabbing away and the professor looked as if she had not even noticed that the students were in the room. Hermione slowly walked to the seat, keeping an eye on the new professor, and wondered what had taken her attention away from the class. Hermione observed that she was flipping through an absurdly large book on the podium and then bouncing back and forth from bookshelf to sideboard to podium. It was a rather curious sight. Buzzing about like a little bee, Professor Jenski looked to be in a world of her own, her mind focused only on what was before her. Was she working on something for the class? Was she ill prepared, perhaps? No, Hermione thought, the professor did not look frantic, just, well, not here.

It was an odd thing to see a professor behaving in such a way. Those she'd had throughout her years in Hogwarts were keen on beginning class exactly on time. Perhaps, Hermione thought as she searched for a clock, they were all early for class?

After a few moments she gave up her search for a timepiece: there was none to be seen. The young witch then glanced around the room. The class consisted of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Ron and Harry were sitting in the row across the aisle from hers, deep into a serious conversation. Hermione thought the subject was probably which witch had the best physical statistics. She also noticed Harry was trying really hard not to look at Professor Jenski. Having her presence taken for granted, Hermione had been witness to Harry's talk of a potential girlfriend, this glorious siren that turned out to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Only Harry would mistake a grown woman for a seventh year. His glasses were in serious need of a new prescription. Hermione giggled to herself and removed her gaze from her friends.

Neville was sitting quietly in the front row next to a Ravenclaw girl who was passing notes to a boy in the same house two rows behind her. Seamus, Dean and Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein sat behind Hermione; the three of them were chortling about something they had done over summer holidays. In the first row of Hermione's aisle sat the Patil sisters and another Ravenclaw. Hermione turned her head at the empty seat next to her.

Mandy Brocklehurst was off in America at Saint Petronilla, the magic school in Louisiana, just south of New Orleans. All Hermione knew about that school was that it was well hidden among the marsh islands somewhere around the Mississippi delta. It was built of moss-stone and enchanted cedar; its multiple buildings, which stood on massive stilts above the water, were all connected by bridges. The Quidditch pitch, interestingly enough, was also above water. The architecture of Saint Petronilla was so entirely different from the mediaeval style of Hogwarts, that Hermione wondered how Mandy was handling the adjustment.

The New Orleans school was named after the first witch (or wizard for that matter) to evoke a _Patronus_. As the story goes, a wizard king, whom she refused to marry, constantly harassed Petronilla. He then haunted her after his death and she finally frightened the ghost away with her Patronus, a fearsome archangel. Religious folk thought her to be a vessel of God and she later died as a martyr.

There were three other schools in North America and Hermione, of course, knew all about them. Lakewood was the New England school that had once been in Salem; because of all the witch hunts in the area, it had picked up, literally-- the school picked itself up, and moved to the plains of Maine. Gladstone was nestled deep in the Rocky Mountains of Montana in the direct vicinity of Glacier Peak. Atl Mazatzal, which from the Aztec loosely translates to "fertile land of the deer," was the magic school in Arizona. The school was situated in what once had been a crater, now lush with life in the middle of the desert. The Mazatzal Mountains and wilderness safely cradled its existence. It lay just south of the Painted Desert, with the Grand Canyon to the northwest.

Hermione stared at that empty seat beside her. The sweet pudgy Ravenclaw usually sat beside Hermione, but now she had the row all to herself. Did no one wish to sit next to her? Looking around she thought the others were too involved with themselves and their little cliques to even notice her sitting alone. Forbidding her mind to feel sorry for herself, Hermione brought her attention back onto the Dark Arts professor.

Professor Jenski was now standing in front of the podium as if she was waiting for something. Did she expect more students? Was she waiting for the class to settle? If so, why did she not speak up? Maybe the professor just did not care for the time running out on the clocks that were strangely absent from the classroom. Hermione shook her head, baffled at what the young professor could be thinking.

She took this time to give the professor a thorough once over. Her appearance was dramatically different from her awkward entrance during the sorting feast. She wore a robe that impressed Hermione. It looked almost like a cross between a kimono and stylish suit her mother would wear. It was black, or perhaps a rich navy, with thin threads of green and purple silk sewn through the fabric, which gave it a look of iridescence as she moved. It criss-crossed at the breast and tied in front at the waist. Professor Jenski had the knot tied off center, right above the left side of her hip. The sleeves had a subtle poof at shoulders giving the robes a distinctly feminine look without being overly precious. The fabric flowed loosely on the arms, much like common robes, but was cut sharp and sleek. The robe ended mid-thigh over navy pants that resembled the sleeves but had an even sleeker cut.

It was all fitted perfectly to the Professor's body, accenting her curves, but it remained tasteful and sophisticated. The best part of the outfit was her shoes. They were black and shiny with a pointy toe and a thin two and half inch heel. Hermione recognized them immediately as an expensive designer shoe. She'd eyed them while in London shopping with her mum. Her parents, of course, could not afford them, but she and her mother had fun trying them on anyway. For having such a high heel, they were surprisingly comfortable and looked absolutely fabulous on her modest feet. Hermione remembered strutting around the shoe store, feeling incredibly sexy. She looked at the Professor and just a tinge of jealously flowed in her aura. Hermione thought the Professor must be well off to afford such shoes, let alone such fine threads.

Hermione then could not resist keeping her eyes away from the Professor's hair. Having temperamental hair herself, the young witch often observed other women's hair and styles. She recalled the frizzy mess that first night; looking at her now, it was just a frizzy memory. Professor Jenski's hair was fine, had a soft wave to it, and ended just between her shoulder blades. The color was a striking mix of blonds that Hermione had never seen. Knowing that the Professor came from the Arizona school, she inferred that the dramatic highlights were from the desert sun. The near platinum strands mixed with light auburns and mousy blonds. She wore it long with some pinned back away from her sun-kissed face.

Hermione noticed the Professor's mouth curling, ever so sly, at the corners. The young witch suddenly had the distinct impression that Professor Jenski was planning something. The Dark Arts professor had watched the class this whole time, patiently waiting for something, and it seemed that something was about to come. Hermione straightened herself in an attempt to prepare herself for whatever was about to happen.

At that moment, Delila came out of the office in front of the classroom and rushed down those stairs on which Gilderoy Lockhart had dramatically made his entrance years ago. She handed the Professor a wand and folded paper, and rushed away to find a seat, which to Hermione's delight was next to hers. The Professor read the note quickly and tucked it into a well-hidden pocket at her waist.

Delila gave Hermione a wink, and then covered her face with her hands. Before she had the chance to ask what was going on, from the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Professor Jenski step forward, raise her wand to the ceiling, and firmly bellow "_Kaoluxluco_!" The next instant Hermione was blind.

Blink. Blink-blink. Blink. All Hermione could see was, well, nothing. She tried to squint through the darkness and blink out the flash of light fried on her retina. She could feel the panic in the air and could hear the chaos around her. Two girls screamed as they bumped into each other; a few students shouted _What Happened? _or _I'm Blind!_;wands dropped and rolled; more bodies crashed into things and each other. She also heard the unmistaken crack of someone stepping on Harry's glasses.

Suddenly Hermione felt hands on her arms. She stiffened herself at the shock of someone touching her, but let the person guide her to the desk. A quill was placed in her hand and she felt for the parchment on the desktop. She then heard Professor Jenski's heels on the floor and the squeaky roll of the portable chalkboard.

The Professor then spoke in a firm voice over the noise of the crowd. "What you are experiencing is the blinding flash curse. The only way to battle the curse is to remain calm. Remain. Calm." As the students slowly began to settle she lowered her voice. Hermione blinked continuously as her vision began to form shadows of objects through phantoms of the flash. She heard the chalk upon the board as the professor continued.

"Kay-OH-loox-loo-ko," Professor Jenski wrote the word on the board as she pronounced it then spoke quickly. "_Kao_, from the Latin meaning chaos, and _lux lucis_ meaning light. In other words 'the light of chaos'. "

Hermione's vision was coming back to her. She heard relieved sighs of the others as their vision came back as well. Still half blind from the negative of the flash upon her retina, she frantically wrote as the professor spoke.

"The blinding flash curse is a fantastic spell that can be used for both offense and defense. Blind your enemies as you ambush them or blind them as you distract them or even run away." The Professor wrote the words _offense_ and _defense_ on the board. "This spell has several damaging levels, which on its lowest level temporarily blinds its target or targets and on its final level permanently blinds its target. The shock to the system causes a panic in its victim, hence the meaning, light of chaos."

Hermione's vision had returned but she still felt like she needed sunglasses. With that thought she turned to look at Ron and Harry. Harry was frowning and squinting at his broken glasses. Ron patted him on the back to console him as he furiously scribbled his notes.

"It can be used on a group or focused to a single person." She drew an arrow from the words offense and defense to the words many and one. "If traveling in a team do not, I repeat, do not let more than one person cast the chaos light spell, for such a mistake has dire consequences." She wrote _for singular use only _and _consequences_, underlining the word several times. "It will not only render the castors blind, but future offspring may be born blind as well. Severe, yet it is fact."

Hermione saw the Professor step away from the board and address the class. "Welcome, students, to Defense Against the Dark Arts! My name is Ananke Jenski, and y'all can call me Professor!"

"Geez, Harry, must I do everything for you?" It was the end of the first day of classes and everyone had migrated to the dining hall. Hermione had just taken her seat next to Ron and Harry. Potter turned to greet her, and to her astonishment Harry's glasses were still cracked and broken, mended together with spell-o-tape.

"Well, it's just that _you_ do everything _so well_, Hermione." Harry grinned and put his hands on her shoulders. "Think of it as an _'oh-madge'_ to your indispensability."

Hermione rolled her eyes in response to Harry's praise of her. She felt she was being mocked and wanted to slap him. But one look at his expression told Hermione that he was being sincere in his own way. Then she wanted to slap him out of his stupidity.

Hermione corrected his dreadful mispronunciation. "An _homage _ to my indispensability? Harry, that doesn't even make sense." She removed his arms from her shoulders and plopped a helping of butternut squash on her plate.

"Besides," Hermione continued, "it is more an example of your idiocy, you going around all day waiting for me to fix your bloomin' glasses." It was such a ridiculous notion to Hermione, to wait all day for someone else to fix something that could be repaired with a simple spell. Had Harry and Ron grown so dependent on her? Was it laziness? Whatever it was, it certainly did not please her.

Hermione was in a huff and did not realize that she'd filled her plate with several helpings of only the squash. "It is an elementary spell, Harry. First years can do it. In fact _I_ did it _even before_ starting our very first class!" She put her plate so heavily on the table that a crack formed under the pressure of the orangey mush. She looked at Harry, who still had that silly grin upon his face. Though he looked comical sporting those broken glasses, Hermione was not laughing. "Seven years have passed, Harry. I think you are caught up to me in my first year by now."

It was as if he hadn't heard anything she'd said. Harry merely continued to grin and then fluttered his eyelashes beneath his cracked lens. "If you please, Hermione, I would be ever so grateful."

Ron lunged his head forward, sharing space with Harry's. "Yeah, Hermione, he's been looking like a dork all day!" Ron laughed pointing a finger at Harry's glasses. "This crack matches his scar! It looks pretty ridiculous!"

This was unbelievable! Had they heard her at all? Did they ever? Perhaps this was all some sort of joke at her expense. Hermione was not amused. "What about you Ron? You let your best friend walk around the school like that? It's you who should fix them anyway, you're the one who stepped on them."

Harry pushed Ron's face away with his hand as the red head laughed. "Aw come now, Hermione, it's like a tradition!" He fluttered his lashes again. "Please? It is our final year at Hogwarts; it'll probably be the last time you'll be able to do it. Please, Hermione? For old times sake?"

Both boys looked at her with puppy dog eyes. She knew them all too well and could read their thoughts as easily as a charm book. It was obvious to her now. Both of them saw this as some sort of tradition; they thought that if anyone but Hermione would fix Harry's glasses, it would be some sort of bad luck-- a black mark for the rest of the year.

Hermione released a heavy breath as she gave up the argument. She knew they wouldn't let up and Harry did look awful silly. She allowed herself to see the humor and it brought a bit of a smile to her face. "Oh, OK, for tradition's sake." Hermione pointed her wand at Harry's glasses. _"Occulus Reparo!_" In a flash of spell-o-tape vanishing from existence, Harry's glasses were fixed.

"Fantastic! I can see better than ever!" Harry examined Hermione's work then slipped the fixed pair back on his nose. Hermione smiled, half expecting some silly cheers from the boys or an impression of a roaring crowd from Ron. To her bitter disappointment both boys only turned to each other without a second thought, falling back into whatever conversation they'd been having all day.

Hermione couldn't believe it. _ Not even a simple thank you! _Ron and Harry's attention returned to each other, as if they couldn't bear one minute away from each other's voices. This was how it had always been. She was always the forgotten shadow, always taken for granted. She pursed her lips. Hermione was just too upset to say anything. She didn't think they'd take her seriously anyway. Or worse, they wouldn't even care.

Hermione turned towards the table and stared at her full plate of squash. She started to feel like that squash, glopped and spread so absent-mindedly. She pushed it away angrily, causing the plate to finally break. "Perfect. Just perfect." She whipped her head around so hard her hair slapped Neville in the face. Hermione stood quickly and left the table in a snit, her face twisting in a positively perturbed scowl.

"Her-Hermione, where are you off too?" Neville called to her as she stormed away.

"Aw, don't worry about her, Nev," Ron said to him, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "She's probably off to the library to do all of the reading that's not due 'til Christmas."

"You sure, Ron? She looked kind of mad." Ron didn't even hear Neville speak again. His concentration was only on the discussion at hand. All day Potter and Weasley had been talking about girls, the Cannons and, more importantly, this year's plans for Quidditch. Ron was team captain now, and had become worse than Oliver Wood at creating game plans. Harry didn't mind, for the whole of his holiday had been spent without any magic and especially Quidditch. Besides, it was their final year; they had to graduate with a house cup win under their belts. They were also hoping for a clean sweep of wins across the board.

Neville shook his head at Ron and Harry's self-involvement. He knew precisely how Hermione was feeling. That sort of dismissal wasn't anything new to Neville. He looked after Hermione, feeling sorry for her as she stormed down the aisle. A frown formed on his face as he saw Hermione shove through the space between Malfoy and one of the exchange students.

"Oy!" Malfoy scoffed as he was pushed aside by Hermione's shoulder. "Have you been hanging around with Potter too much, Granger? Do you need glasses, too?"

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy!" Hermione hollered at him, without looking back.

Draco waved off her insolence, not wanting to deal with the temperamental Gryffindor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk down the aisle to the Slytherin table. Robert Blackcrow walked with him quietly, with an expression that did not reveal his thoughts.

"That's a Gryffindor for you," Draco told Robert. "They think they can do anything they want to us Slytherins and not suffer the consequences." They passed by Ron and Harry, who took a break from their conversation to give Draco dirty looks. Draco just rolled his eyes at them, wondering when those two would come up with anything new.

"That Granger's also part of the Saint Potter Club. They all think they have the right to do anything they want just because they went up against You-Know-Who a couple of times. " Draco walked all the way up to the end of the table, near the faculty table. Robert followed and quietly listened to Malfoy. "Their 'battles' were nothing but an arm wrestling match to Ol' Snake Eyes. With that Gryffindor stupidity that they think is courage, they'll be sure to get their due."

The two Slytherins sat between a group of first and second years. The rest of the upperclassmen were sitting down at the other end; the lot of them was giving Draco the eye. Robert observed this, and looked back to the scowl upon Malfoy's face. Draco was sporting a black eye, an injury caused by the blinding curse during their last class. From the way the Slytherins were eyeing each other, Draco's black eye was no accident. But to his merit, Draco had not run to Madam Pomfrey to get it healed. He wore his black eye defiantly to show the others he wasn't afraid of them.

The truth was, he was quaking in his boots. The past couple of years had not been a picnic in the Malfoy house. It was widely known that Malfoy's father had been sent to Azkaban. If that wasn't enough, the Ministry had seized all of Lucius' assets, including Malfoy Manor. Luckily, Narcissa, Draco's mother, had her own accounts that fell under the Black name and not that of Malfoy.

To Narcissa, Lucius' absence was a gift; she'd been able to leave the clutches of the Malfoys under a good excuse and then buy her own home away from the Dark Lord's followers. She wanted her son away from that darkness and did all she could to keep him away, including forbidding Draco to visit his friends-- at least during the holidays. During school years she had no control over what her son would do and he would still keep with his Slytherin friends.

At first Malfoy thought his mother was embarrassed about what had happened to his father. Their name had been spilled all over the wizard press for weeks and the trial was finished with a swift and heavy hand. Lucius Malfoy was to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for the crimes he had committed in the Dark Lord's name. Draco remembered the smug grin his father had worn, as if the man thought there was no way he would have to spend any of his sentence in Azkaban, let alone set foot into the terrible prison. Lucius had thought his fellow Death Eaters would spring him or ambush the escorts that led him to Azkaban. That had been two years ago. Save for Draco and his mother, no one had even visited him.

Still and all, his mother's embarrassment wasn't enough to keep Draco away from his friends and the lure of becoming a Death Eater. He swore his vengeance on behalf of his father, who was rotting away in prison. There wasn't any excuse good enough for Draco for his mother's bizarre behavior. Then one day, she'd told him the truth. That day was when he'd lost all desire to follow in his father's footsteps. That day changed his life.

The days and months that followed were spent in seclusion; and more and more inventive excuses were given to his former friends as to why he couldn't visit or hadn't written. Soon it was known in the dark circles that Malfoy shunned his destiny. He stopped visiting his father and cut off all contact with everyone he'd ever cared to know.

Slowly but surely Draco began receiving malicious threats. With the help of his mother and the few house elves they had, they constructed layers upon layers of magical traps and barriers to protect them in their little house on the hill. Well, it was little compared to Malfoy Manor; it still boasted several bedchambers, a dining hall, a massive study and even an indoor Quidditch practice pitch. Nevertheless, Draco's summer days were spent doing nothing but studying spells and curses and chasing a snitch in his indoor pitch. His nights were spent keeping watch, since insomnia was his new best friend.

Draco was thankful for the start of the new year. He couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts for he knew it would be the only place he'd be truly safe. He had no love for Dumbledore-- in fact he didn't have any love for anyone at Hogwarts-- but he knew the old purple wizard would protect him from any lethal harm. Minor abuse couldn't be helped, but at least Draco knew he wouldn't be torn to shreds.

His only worry, besides his own hide, was for his mother. She was alone now in the new house, protected only by the magic barricades and loyal house elves. Draco took comfort in the fact that his mother was less a prize than he. He knew it was him whom they wanted dead. Hurting Narcissa would only serve to bring Draco to a vicious rage against the Death Eaters. He would no doubt sell them out before doing all he could to destroy them. He also knew, despite his offense against the Dark Order, they were hopeful for his return, whether voluntary or encouraged by wicked means.

The black eye was merely a kiss compared to the beatings he was anticipating. Yet he was ready for them. He was dead scared and prayed for easy hands or a steely hide, but he was ready for whatever his former friends could dish out. There was no way he was going back to the Death Eaters. Hell would have him first.

Draco finally removed his eyes from the future Death Eaters at the other end of the long dining table. He looked at Robert, who was sitting directly across from him. Eyes the color of earth that looked to have lived a thousand lives stared kindly back at Draco from a young stoic face. Being Prefect, Draco was volunteered to show the exchange student around. He gladly did so. It served as a good distraction and kept him away from Slytherin house for at least one evening. He was even able to sleep, for the others were smart enough not to try anything that first night.

Robert and Draco happened to share most classes and had shared all this first day. Draco found the American student quiet and patient and this pleased him. Blackcrow's calm energy was also infectious. It stayed Draco's nerves, holding them at a level that would keep the fill of his stomach from escaping through his mouth.

Malfoy was also anxious for a friend, someone other than a house elf to talk to. Blackcrow seemed to be a willing candidate, though only time would tell. So far the Navajo had listened patiently to Draco and spoke only when he felt he needed to or when asked a direct question. In fact, Malfoy only knew Blackcrow was a Navajo because he'd asked.

"My tribe is what you would know as Navajo. My ancestors were of the Sobaipuri, now spread with the ghost wind," had been Robert's reply.

Malfoy felt comfortable with Blackcrow. Perhaps it was because he was new and nothing like his old friends. Perhaps it was because he seemed not to pass judgment on Draco. Perhaps it was Blackcrow's mysterious air. Whatever it was, Draco took a liking to him right away. He also had this feeling-- one that could only be described as strange-- that there was something about this new Slytherin. Something, Draco thought, that would be to his own advantage.

The cry of a hungry stomach put Malfoy's hands in motion to help himself to supper. He did not speak as he ate; Draco was concentrating on filling his angry appetite. His thoughts eventually trailed to Quidditch. He was captain now, and hoped that the others would shed their animosity for him during Quidditch practice and games.

Malfoy had been practicing all summer and had become far better than he had ever been. He had a focus he'd never had before, and anything else, including Potter, would simply be an obstacle to overcome to get that snitch. It was going to be a glorious gaming season for Slytherin if all went well. As it stood, he needed fresh blood to replace those who had graduated.

Draco announced to the young students around him, "Quidditch try-outs will be held at the end of the week. Anyone who is ready, willing and able ought to come. You, blond girl." A small second year looked at Malfoy with wide eyes. His fellow classmates might have spurned Draco, but the underclassmen still showed their respect or fear. "Macomby isn't it?"

"Yes, Ceciley Macomby." The girl nodded.

"I hear you're rather quick on the broom," Draco said. " I need a chaser."

"B-But girls aren't allowed on the team," the towhead said in a small voice.

"Just because we haven't had any girls, doesn't mean they aren't allowed. You're quick and nimble; it's what I need. I better see you at try-outs!" Draco commanded.

"Yes sir, Malfoy, sir." The girl blushed as her girlfriends around her gushed at the invitation.

Malfoy looked at Blackcrow and considered him as he stuffed a fork-full of beef into his mouth. "How about you, Blackcrow? You play Quidditch?"

With a quick nod of his head, he replied, "I am a proud keeper of the Mazatzal Sun Gods."

Draco's lips curled to a winning smile. "Excellent! I will have you as Slytherin's newest keeper."

Blackcrow returned a smile to Malfoy and bowed his head in a gesture of gratitude. He brought his attention to his full plate and continued with his supper. Malfoy was pleased. This was going to be a banner year for the Slytherin Quidditch team. With new skill and a whole new attitude, Draco thought Slytherin would triumph unbeaten at the end of the year.

Professor Snape had come to into the dining hall with the tiny Professor of Charms floating next to him. "Granted, numbering so few, the first years would have to be taught their classes as a whole. There are certainly not enough to split them by houses," Snape was saying to Flitwick.

"Oh yes, of course, Professor Snape, I was indeed getting to that point. I also meant to say I am rather fond of the small number. It leaves so much room for unity among the houses." Flitwick flitted his toes, his voice full of cheer. "Perhaps one day they will lead by example!"

"There is always that possibility." Snape's dry tone clashed against the cheerful Flitwick. It was an interesting sight, watching the two professors walking down the aisle. One was dark, tall and full of sneer. The other was small and full of light and cheer. They stood on opposite ends of the spectrum, but each was as powerful as the other. Snape continued to speak as they approached the head table. "I am rather fond of the small number as well."

"Oh, Professor Snape?" Flitwick was beside himself that the _professor of tooth and claw_ could be softening his edge. Could Severus be agreeing with him? Flitwick twitched his moustache in delightful anticipation --- Snape might possibly share his view.

"Yes, Professor Flitwick," Snape answered, turning to Flitwick, his eyes narrowing in his sockets, " I could only ever stand teaching first-years in one sitting anyway." Professor Snape abruptly turned on his heel and continued to his left. He walked around the faculty table to his seat. Flitwick was left floating with a sour expression on his face. After a moment the tiny professor shook his head, wondering why he would have thought any cheerful word would come out of Snape.

Snape pulled his chair away from the table, only to find the new DADA teacher already sitting in the chair beside his own. He had hoped that the woman would be late again so that his meal could be taken without the presence of yet another feeble-minded teacher who had usurped his position. Thankfully, Dumbledore had her attention. Snape noticed that at least this time she had polished herself up, resembling a teacher rather than a rag doll.

Snape made no gesture to greet Professor Jenski, or anyone else for that matter. His behavior did not escape Dumbledore's attention. The Headmaster eyed the Potions Master for a brief moment before letting the matter go. Remembering their last encounter, he wished for no excuse for another argument. He left Snape to his supper without comment.

Professor Snape sat down and helped himself to a bowl of beet soup. It was one of his favorites, and the house elves made sure to have it served at the dining table at least twice a week. He was a man of picky tastes. Seldom would he try anything new. The Potions Master was set in his ways and his routine. It was the simple things that kept him in focus. It was in the simple things that he found his pleasure.

Professor Snape kept to himself as he ate, speaking to no one and hearing no one. There was no one worth talking to anyway. In fact he preferred to use his meal times to actually eat, not for a social hour. He could enjoy his meal, and then quickly be off to his work rooms or chambers for whatever he needed to do. He would make his supper time appearance and leave. Try as often as he might, almost always someone would trap him into a conversation. Most times it would be Dumbledore or McGonagall, and out of respect would he humour them by holding up his end of the conversation. This time, however, it was Malfoy.

"Pardon me, Professor Snape." A student's voice found Snape's ear. Someone was addressing him. He brought his eyes up from his bowl, making a show of his annoyance. He saw the platinum haired young man standing before him with eager eyes. It was his house prefect, Draco Malfoy. Snape put his bowl down and wiped his mouth.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" With a serpentine tongue, Snape acknowledged him. It was then Snape noticed Draco's black eye. Snape raised a brow at this but did not comment. He knew of Draco's choice of desertion - perhaps this was the beginning of his punishment. The fact that the bruise was not healed or glamoured to hide said something about Draco. Or perhaps the boy was just too afraid for wands to go anywhere near his pretty face, even if they were for healing.

Draco stepped forward. Robert Blackcrow was standing next to him. "Sir, I have found a new keeper." He gestured to Blackcrow with a self-satisfied smile. It was only the end of the first day and already he had found a keeper. Draco was sure his Head of House would be pleased. However, Professor Snape was a terribly hard man to please.

"Have you now, Malfoy?" Snape's inquisitive eye roamed over Blackcrow. He had briefly met him during his introduction to Slytherin House. The impression Snape got from the young man was that he was indeed quiet and patient. It was a rare Slytherin quality that could prove to be sinister. It hinted at a cold and calculating nature found only in the best of Slytherins, much like himself. Then again, Robert Blackcrow was one of those rare ones, one of those strange breeds in which the very seed of magic runs in the blood. Blackcrow might only have been wearing a mask that would fit him well within the walls of Slytherin. Snape stared Blackcrow down but the young man did not stir beneath his skin.

Malfoy cleared his throat and answered his Head of House. "Blackcrow here was keeper at his school." He mustered enough confidence to stand by his choice and sell the idea of him to Professor Snape. "Don't even need to train him up!"

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Malfoy, but you know nothing of the boy-- only that which he has told you. You have no idea what he is or is not capable of. Are you so eager that someone's word is worth more than proof?" Snape crossed his arms. "Tell, me Malfoy, have you even seen the boy fly?"

"Er, no, but I am sure he would do well." Draco straightened himself up. He felt himself begin to cower beneath Snape's intense eye but forbade himself to do so.

"Do you now, Draco Malfoy? You vouch for someone you have just met?" Snape still stared down at Draco. However, he was impressed at his undaunted stance. Snape wondered how long it would last. How long would it be until Malfoy was brought down to a whimper?

Suddenly a new voice chimed in. "He would not be making a mistake to vouch for Bobby, Professor Snape." Professor Jenski smiled at Snape as she spoke. "Bobby is an excellent keeper! Because of him the Sun Gods have remained unbeaten since his arrival at Mazatzal." She raised a fist and shook it. Snape assume that it was part of some cheer from the American school. "Za! Zha!" Jenski exclaimed and shook her fist once more.

"Do you always make it a point to interrupt House business?" Snape spoke with contempt, but did not look at Jenski. He did not need an answer: of course she would stick her nose into other people's business. How very _American_ of her.

"If it involves one of my students, then the answer is yes." She looked at Snape, but he would not take his eyes off the students below. Ana had no idea why the potions professor had taken such a tone with her. However, from the look of the scowl deeply embedded into the man's face, she concluded that it was merely his disposition.

Therefore Ana had no reason not to continue, "Bobby is an exceptional Quidditch player. Any team would be lucky to have him as a member, including yours, Professor Snape." She turned her eyes to Bobby Blackcrow and gave him a wink. It was a gesture that told him that she had his back. He knew that Miss Jenski could be protective of her students. Blackcrow in turn smiled only with his eyes and bowed his head in that gesture of thanks.

Snape, nevertheless, remained obtuse and foreboding. Slowly he turned to the Dark Arts professor. His dark eyes narrowed maliciously in her direction. His voice was flat but not without scorn. "As far as I am concerned your opinion does not matter."

Professor Jenski's eyes widened and her mouth opened but nothing was said. She only stared back at him in dismay. Snape let his gaze linger for a moment longer before turning back to Draco.

"Malfoy, despite Blackcrow's so-called experience and talent, you will have him try out like the rest."

Professor Jenski shook off the shock of Snape's comment. She did not care for his rude behavior and decided to pay no mind to it. Like dirt off her shoulder she brushed it off and spoke to Snape's Slytherin Prefect. "I promise you will not be disappointed in Bobby, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded and both boys made to leave. "Oh and Draco," Jenski said as she smiled at him, "nice shiner! Remember to use your senses! _Especially_ in my class. Next time duck when you hear a fist coming!"

Draco did not know how to react. His eyes blinked between the pleasant smile of the DADA professor and the flaring nostrils of the Potions Master. He wasn't sure if he was being insulted or if it would be all right to laugh. Then again, the real cause of his black eye was not that funny. He answered with a simple _Yes, Professor _and moved on. As they walked, Draco leaned close to Blackcrow and said quietly, "Don't worry about Snape, he's a hard ass—it's just the way he is. You're the new keeper for sure."

The potions master had begun to take his leave as well. He stood but decided he could not leave before making one final comment to the Darks Arts professor. "I suggest, Professor Jenski," -- she looked up at him curious to hear what arrogant unpleasantries he would dish out next--- " that you keep your nose to your own business and a better eye on your students. It is the first day of classes and already you have a casualty. A first in Hogwarts' history." He stared down at her through his dark tunneled eyes.

Professor Jenski straightened herself and stared back at him, challenging his wicked glance. It was the only way she could respond. She did not wish to return with equal rudeness, but she felt she had the right to defend herself. Snape then took a step forward against her challenge. He looked down at her with such a cold stare it gave her the chills.

He hovered maliciously at the edge of her personal space; then, like the startling roar of a thunderclap, swiftly turned on his heel and walked away. Snape did not bother to parade down the aisle of the Great Hall and instead left by the door behind the head table. Ana could do nothing but stare at Snape as he left. She spoke to Dumbledore but still looked on to the exit. "My goodness! Is he always like that?"

"My dear, he is a complicated man. However, to answer your question: Yes. Unfortunately, for the most part he is." Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "Here have a lemon-fizzer. It tickles the nose."

Ron was right; Hermione had gone to the library. But he was wrong about the reason she'd gone there. She was too upset to read about anything, especially anything academic. She had come to the library because it was quiet, because she could get lost in it and no one would bother her. Hermione angrily sat on a window seat and rubbed her face in her hands. No, she was not going to cry. Ron and Harry were not worth her tears.

Taking her head out of her hands, she looked around the library. There were only a handful of diligent students and Madam Pince. Hermione stood up and shook her anger away as best she could. Her schoolbooks had been left in the Gryffindor common room and she wasn't about to go all the way over there. Besides, it wasn't worth the risk of running into Potter and Weasley.

Hermione walked down the bookshelf aisles, hoping to find something that could distract her from her lingering anger. As she rounded the corner of the third aisle, she stopped. Down the aisle, past the rest of the bookshelves, she saw Delila sitting on another window seat reading. Hermione smiled. Now was her chance. The quiet of the library provided little distraction and there was nowhere else to go that needed their presence. Hermione was finally going to properly introduce herself.

Approaching the new Ravenclaw she instantly recognized the book Delila was reading. It was _Hogwarts: A History_. Hermione smiled and knew she would get along with her easily. Providence had sent her someone, someone who she could truly call friend.

Hermione stood in front of her beaming her best smile. "Hello. We both are in Arithmancy and share the same DADA class."

Delila looked up from the very large book on her lap. "Yes, I know. I was there as well."

"Yes, of course." Hermione gave a chuckle. "Oh, where are my manners." She then put out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I know who you are." Delila closed the book with a loud clap of the pages coming together. "You are the bane of my existence."

**Upcoming:**

Chapter 4:

Professor Jenski discusses her and Atl Mazatzal's history among the staff while Snape listens on in aversion. Ron and Harry notice someone missing. Draco prepares for the Quidditch season.


End file.
